I was confounded, and looked for the young gentleman with the umbrella, which I could have used as walking-stick, as neither Clairin nor Godard had one. But just as I was accusing him of going away and leaving us, he jumped lightly out of a vehicle which I had not heard drive up. “There!” said he. “There is a carriage for you and these gentlemen, and another for the body of the balloon.” “_Ma foi!_ You have saved us,” said Clairin, clasping his hand, “for it appears the roads are in a very bad state.” “Oh,” said the young man, “it would be impossible for the feet of Parisians to walk even half the distance.” Then he bowed and wished us a pleasant journey. Rather more than an hour later we arrived at the station of Emerainville. The station-master, learning who we were, received us in a very friendly manner. He made his apologies for not having heard when we called out an hour previously from our floating vehicle. We had a frugal meal of bread, cheese, and cider set before us. I have always detested cheese, and would never eat it: there is nothing poetical about it. But I was dying with hunger. “Taste it, taste it,” said Georges Clairin. I bit a morsel off, and found it excellent. We got back very late, in the middle of the night, and I found my household in an extreme state of anxiety. Our friends who had come to hear news of us had stayed. There was quite a crowd. I was somewhat annoyed at this, as I was half dead with fatigue. I sent everybody away rather sharply, and went up to my room. As my maid was helping me to undress she told me that some one had come for me from the Comédie Française several times. “Oh, mon Dieu!” I cried anxiously. “Could the piece have been changed?” “No, I don’t think so,” said the maid. “But it appears that Monsieur Perrin is furious, and that they are all in a rage with you. Here is the note which was left for you.” I opened the letter. I was requested to call on the manager the following day at two o’clock. On my arrival at Perrin’s at the time appointed I was received with exaggerated politeness which had an undercurrent of severity. Then commenced a series of recriminations about my fits of ill-temper, my caprices, my eccentricities; and he finished his speech by saying that I had incurred a fine of one thousand francs for travelling without the consent of the management. I burst out laughing. “The case of a balloon has not been foreseen,” I said; “and I vow that I will pay no fine. Outside the theatre I do as I please, and that is no business of yours, my dear Monsieur Perrin, so long as I do nothing to interfere with my theatrical work. And besides, you bore me to death—I will resign. Be happy.” I left him ashamed and anxious.